Chef d'Oeuvre
by ilexx
Summary: S5. Set sometime after 'Decay of the Angel'.


**Chef d'Oeuvre**

Rhade was bored. They were sitting together onboard the _Andromeda Ascendant_, Harper typing data into a flexi, trying to figure out faster, better, smoother ways allowing an interchange between Doyle and _Andromeda_ – or what was left of her.

From time to time, Dylan was sipping on his water ration while continuing to write and scratch along some words he was old-fashionedly scribbling on a piece of paper.

Both men seemed absorbed by their respective tasks. Annoyed, Rhade swallowed a mouthful of the so-called Seefran brandy, that traced a line of fire down his throat.

"Where is Doyle?" he suddenly asked. There was no answer. "Umm, 'scuse me?" he tried anew. "Doyle, anyone?" The silence persisted. "Harper!" the Nietzschean then called out.

Startled, the Terran almost dropped the flexi he was working on, while Dylan reluctantly lifted his eyes, as well.

"Rhade, my friend!" Once he regained his composure, the young man addressed him. His voice sounded mocking. "You bellowed?"

Propped on his elbow, his glass in his hand, Rhade leaned over the table.

"Doyle?" he inquired once more. "Do you know where she is?"

"Feeling lonely, Rhade?" Dylan mocked him, too.

"Just curious," the Nietzschean replied frowning.

"She's on Command with Trance," Harper offered. "That's where the two of them spend most of their time lately."

"And Beka?"

"Running cargo. I suppose," Harper shrugged. "Haven't seen her in ages..."

"Wonder what she's up to," Rhade nodded thoughtfully. "Haven't seen her either – not in the last three weeks, anyway..." His gaze fell on Dylan's still face. Taking in the captain's frozen-up expression, a broad grin slowly spreading on his lips, Rhade softly elbowed the _Andromeda_'s engineer, whose attention had already returned to his flexi. "But he has..."

Surprised, Harper looked up again, suspiciously eyeing the older man.

"You have?"

Something in-between a frown and a lopsided grin on his face, Dylan nodded.

"Uhh, here we go again..." Rhade laughed, a somewhat insinuating tone noticeable in his voice.

"What?" Harper looked from one man to the other, trying hard to make some sense out of the Nietzschean's cryptic expression.

"Come on, Dylan, spill it! Who was the fellow? Yet another one of Seefra's rich and handsome?"

"There... there was no fellow."

"Ts..." Rhade uttered, faking great concern, "VIP-men shortage on Seefra?! That's too bad! Did you get to wipe out all or was it mainly death by natural causes?"

"Huh?" Puzzled, Harper still contented himself to observing.

"Really, Rhade..." Dylan sighed, the strain in his voice clearly signaling that the Nietzschean was getting on his nerves.

"Hello?" the Terran finally ventured, his tone both cautious and demanding. "Would someone please care to enlighten me?"

"Beka and I met a week ago, Harper," Dylan fell in quickly, his eyes not leaving Rhade's still grinning face. "It was at the craft-port. I was in the main hall, waiting for the carrier to Baleine to see the guy you had ordered those new cylinders from. Beka was there to catch a ride to the Badlands, looking for some parts she needed to fix the _Maru_..."

"The _Maru_ needed fixing? Why didn't she tell me?"

Dylan's gaze finally focused in on Harper.

"Don't know," he answered flatly. "Maybe she can't afford you."

Harper flinched. Had there been an accusatory undertone in the Vedran's voice or was this just his conscience playing dirty tricks on him? A short, inquisitive look into his former captain's face revealed nothing but a blank stare.

"Fine!" the small man exploded indignantly. "Fine, be that way!"

Abruptly he stood up and left.

"Ohh, now look what you've done!" Rhade drawled ironically.

"Damn' it, Rhade, I can understand that you're drunk. But why can't you be a pleasant drunk?" Dylan furiously asked.

"I can," the large man answered, " I just don't want to," he then announced firmly, finishing his drink. "So: what's the story?"

"There is no story," Dylan stubbornly denied.

"You were in a rush?"

"Yes."

"You're lying. As good as you are in bluffing your way out of hairy situations, you're a lousy liar."

"Okay, no, we weren't."

"Well, how much time did the two of you get to kill together?"

"About four hours."

"Four hours? What did you talk about?"

The _Andromeda_'s captain shook his head.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You just sat there, waiting for your rides? For four hours? I don't buy that!"

"I'm not selling anything here, Rhade," Dylan laughed in disdain.

For a few more instants Telemachus Rhade mustered the other man in silence, with narrowed eyes, finally opening his mouth, but then he seemed to reconsider. He stood, placed his glass gently down on the table and turned towards the doors.

"There's more to this," he threw over his shoulder, on his way out.

-

Rhade was wrong. There wasn't more to this. Nothing had occurred. In any case, nothing Dylan felt compelled to share with his previous companions – or anyone else for that matter.

They had met, Beka entering the main hall about half an hour later than him. She had looked around, spotting him almost at once and smilingly coming over, her eyes indicating the free chair at his table. He had nodded invitingly.

Each one had politely asked about the other, explaining vaguely what they were doing there, but not venturing so far as to tell the other about their destinations. It took them just minutes to exhaust all topics of mutual interest. An awkward silence then descended on their table, one that Dylan found maddening and strangely comforting alike. Struggling to escape it, he had dug a book out of his pocket, seeming to almost plunge into its contents. Asked an hour later what it was all about, he would have been incapable of telling. Short glances thrown across the table every once in a while showed him a detached, relaxed Beka listening to some music. The longer they were sitting together the more aware he was that this was a once in a lifetime chance to finally start talking, the more he remained stuck in his frozen muteness, the more he dreaded to see her stand up and leave.

As yet another departure was announced, he even closed his eyes, fearing it to be Beka's, holding still and silently counting to ten. Re-opening them he saw her still there, not moving, her gaze fixing him amused – and everything went blue.

He was behaving like an idiot and knew it, frantically searching for an opening to start talking to her, trying to say something – or at least wishing to find something to do that would have made him appear less foolish. In the end he put the book away and searched for a pen, but was unable to find something else to write upon other than his ticket. He was somewhat hoping that the exercise would end in him finding something intelligent to say to her – about what had happened to her, to him, to them, about him being sorry, about how he wished that she would understand, reconsider, come back to the _Andromeda_, to them, to...

Fighting for composure he started to write, thinking – half amused – that even if he didn't manage to begin a conversation with her, she would at least be impressed and think that he had become... a bit of a poet! It wouldn't really matter that he was just faking, if what he came up with was really, really sucking – she would never get to read it anyway.

There are phrases in life that one never forgets. For Dylan it would be "Boarding for the Badlands starting at gate 3!" Beka rose with her pink – _pink?_ – bag on her shoulder, throwing a last glance around her and nodding him 'good-bye'.

She didn't smile at him; had she done so, he probably would have stood up and left on the spot, especially if it would have been one of those small, sad 'That's life!'-smiles. His gaze followed her until she disappeared behind the big, blue board, that left him with nothing but the memory of her eyes.

That was all there had been. But for one thing: after all the words he had come up with on this small boarding card were... the right ones, fitting. He knew instinctively that he had found the right tone, used the proper phrases to explain it all to her and that – after reading – she would certainly come back to them, give them all another chance... Unfortunately though, he was too lost in thought. When his ride came up, he mechanically offered his ticket, entering the carrier - and forgetting everything about it. By the time he remembered, he was already half on his way to Baleine.

That was all there had been. No Beka – and no literary masterpiece, after all. And much as he tried, he couldn't put it back together again.


End file.
